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Updated: June 20, 2025
"I have a book of old music here, perhaps I can find the very one," she said; and then the pure voice soared out in the song of praise his father had loved: "Praise God, for he is kind; His mercy lasts for aye; Give thanks with heart and mind To God of Gods alway. For certainly His mercies dure, Most firm and sure, Eternally."
And that desert and that place of darkness dure from this coast unto Paradise terrestrial, where that Adam, our formest father, and Eve were put, that dwelled there but little while: and that is towards the east at the beginning of the earth. But that is not that east that we clepe our east, on this half, where the sun riseth to us.
Th' rayciption that this here sintimint has rayceived fr'm ivry wan that has a son in colledge is almost tumulchuse. We feel like a long-lost brother that's been settin' outside in th' cold f'r a week, an' is now ast in to supper an' sarched at th' dure f'r deadly weepins. We'll have to set up sthraight an' mind our manners.
And I should venture to hope that it might be a vexation the first to leave me, if a visit to an invalid condemned to the peine forte et dure of being very silent, notwithstanding her womanhood, were a less gloomy thing.
'Th' women'll earn their own livin', she says; 'an' mebbe, she says, 'th' men'll stay at home an' dredge in th' house wurruk, she says. 'A-ho, says Donahue. 'An' that's th' new woman, is it? he says. An' he said no more that night. "But th' nex' mornin' Mrs. Donahue an' Mollie come to his dure. 'Get up, says Mrs. Donahue, 'an' bring in some coal, she says.
'But whin a poor gintleman an' a poor lady fall out, the poor lady puts all her anger into rubbin' th' zinc off th' wash-boord an' th' poor gintleman aises his be murdhrin' a slag pile with a shovel, an' be th' time night comes ar-round he says to himself: Well, I've got to go home annyhow, an' it's no use I shud be onhappy because I'm misjudged, an' he puts a pound iv candy into his coat pocket an' goes home an' finds her standin' at th' dure with a white apron on an' some new ruching ar-round her neck, he says.
Whin he visited th' house nex' dure to th' queen's, an' unloaded a dhray full iv explosives an' chuvvels, the fact was rayported to th' polis, who become exthremely vigilant.
She looks out of the frame with a cold, level glance; yet the lips smile. One hand holds a dull-red rose; the other, long, narrow, tapering, plays with a thick rope of silk and gold and jewels hanging from the waist; round the throat, white as marble, partially confined in the tight dull-red bodice, hangs a gold collar, with the device on alternate enameled medallions, "AMOUR DURE DURE AMOUR."
Where will the loss fall crushingly? The slow torture of which we read in histories of early times was like to this. Each day a weight was added to that already lying on the breast of a strong man, bound on his back by the cords of his oppressors, until relief and destruction came together, and the man was crushed; such was the peine forte et dure."
Patricia was seated in the middle of the bed, completely surrounded with pillows, and fanning herself nonchalantly. "Phwat made ye slam th' dure?" he demanded. "Did it slam?" she asked. "It must have been the draught. There's an awful draught around this apartment haven't you noticed it, Riley?" "I haven't noticed nuthin' excep' that ye are a bad little gurl."
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